


Looking Past

by Craftybadger1234



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 01:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftybadger1234/pseuds/Craftybadger1234
Summary: The soulmark directs you to the location where you'll meet your soulmate.Draco doesn't think a soulmate is going to work out so he's only going out of mild curiosity. Just to take a peek, then leave. But that's not how fate works.





	Looking Past

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to CleopatraIsMyName for looking this over for me. :) 
> 
> This story is light and moves fast because sometimes that's what I want.

Glamouring himself had been a brilliant idea. 

As soon as he’d seen the mark on his hand, _Merivale Bridge, Hogsmeade_, he’d started working on his disguise. 

Because he was a Death Eater and no one wanted a Death Eater for their soulmate except another Death Eater, and he sure as fuck didn’t want a Death Eater for his soulmate.

But he had to admit, he was curious as to his soulmate's identity. And so he made himself up as a little old man, out to sketch wildlife from the bridge. Several people were also out on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, strolling down the lane and chatting amiably. But only one of them looked to be waiting with intense expectation of a certain someone. 

Harry Potter. Of course it was Harry Potter.

He wore a navy peacoat that surely belonged to someone else, buttoned up high against a brisk November wind that wreaked havoc with his already wild hair. Snug fitting black trousers and shiny black boots completed the outfit, and Draco had to admit he presented a pretty picture. So much nicer than his usual jeans, t-shirt, and casual open robes.

Unfortunately, Draco couldn’t imagine a single scenario where Harry Potter welcomed him with open arms, no matter the soul marks on their hands. Death Eater, cowardly war criminal, useless villain. All the ugly, angry words between them. Hexes and curses. How did the Fates decide they should be together? 

Over the past few months, everyone had been getting marks on their hands. With the war over and death no longer lingering over their heads, these connections could at last be made. Draco had eagerly anticipated his own mark, hoping for someone to help him find a way out of the pit of despair he found himself in.

Harry Potter? Really?

Curiosity drove Draco forward, haltingly like the little old man he appeared to be, his patched robes swirling around him. He only wanted to listen, see what Potter might be telling the older witch bothering him. If he stayed just far enough away, the marks would remain and maybe Potter would return again tomorrow when Draco felt braver.

The witch struggled to corral two small children while asking excitedly, “Could we get your autograph?”

“Of course,” Potter said, pulling a muggle pen from his pocket. “Do you have something…?”

“Oh! Yes, erm…” The woman dug through her enormous bag, looking for a scrap of paper.

This was a mistake. Draco turned to leave, but Potter looked up at him. "Sir, could I bother you for a page from your sketchbook?"

Draco sighed down at the book in his hands and shrugged. He tore a blank page from his sketchbook. “Here you are, young lady,” he rasped, his voice altered to sound worn and old. Just like he felt.

“Thank you, sir!” She shoved the paper at Potter, who smiled kindly. Pressing the paper to the low wall behind him, Potter signed his name with a flourish and gave the paper back to her. “My husband will never believe it! Harry Potter!”

“Not entirely out of the realm of possibility,” he said lightly. “Since I’m at Hogwarts and down here in Hogsmeade pretty frequently.”

“Right, yes, but wow… Harry Potter!”

How long was this stupid woman going to gush? The damage was done, they'd met on the bridge so Draco elbowed her out of the way to at least give Potter some breathing room. “Make room for the rest of us. I’d like an autograph too!” He tore another page out and handed it to Potter, feeling like an idiot. But it worked because the woman smiled and dragged her two kids away.

“Here you go.” Potter returned the paper and Draco barely glanced at it before tucking it away.

“Here.” Draco tore out a few other sheets and offered them to Potter. “In case there are others.”

“Oh, erm… thanks.” He rolled them up and put them in his pocket, scanning the bridge visitors again.

Draco deserved hexing. “Waiting on someone?”

“Yeah… a friend should be here. Soon.”

“Hmph. Good luck with that.” Draco nodded a goodbye and strolled to the other end of the bridge. From there, he had a good view of Potter, enough he could make a rough sketch of him. The details he would fill in later.

Potter spoke with anyone that came up to him, and used the papers Draco had given him to hand out more autographs. But he never stopped scanning the bridge.

Draco wondered if Potter noticed when a little old man gave up sketching and headed back into town.

As he reached the castle, Draco pulled off his glove to check his palm. The words were already running together like ink on wet parchment. Another hour or so and they’d be gone entirely.

He shook off the last of his glamour and made his way back to the eighth year common room. Alone.

\--------

Dinner came and went, but no one seemed to care that Potter hadn’t returned. Draco overheard Granger and Weasley talking about it as they entered the common room.

“It must be going well, if he stayed in Hogsmeade for dinner!” Others joined in the good news, Longbottom and Abbott, Finnigan and Brown.

And then as the general curfew approached, “Do you think he’s lost track of the time?” Knowing winks were exchanged between the boys. But so were worried glances between the girls.

And when the later, eighth year curfew approached, “Should we send a patronus?”

But there was no need. Potter came in with seconds to spare, ignoring the lecture from the portrait door about his near-tardiness.

“Harry!” Granger said happily. “We were worried! Did it go well?” Her smile fell as she spoke, noticing his windblown hair and blank face. “Who - who was it?”

“He never showed.” Potter took off his coat, revealing a deep plum button-down shirt. He sat with a defeated sigh. “I mean, the words are gone so I know he was there. But he didn’t - no one my age talked to me. I waited, though, in case he came back.”

He’d been waiting on the bridge all this time? Fuck, Draco truly deserved hexing.

Weasley patted him on the back. “Hey, maybe it’s someone a little older. Or a little younger? Were there a lot of people there?”

Potter rubbed his eyes under his glasses and stood. “Yeah, I’m not an idiot. I can assure you I examined all possibilities. So that’s that.” He picked up his coat. “I’m ready for a shower and pyjamas. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Draco strained to listen from his corner of the room, but whatever the couples whispered as they left for their rooms didn’t carry to him. He dimmed the lights and moved to the sofa near the fire, knowing sleep would be elusive as ever. 

He shouldn’t have gone to the bridge. As usual, the knowledge came too late to help him. If he’d waited a few days, he could have at least heard what Potter expected of a soulmate. Then maybe he would have known what to say when he saw Potter on the bridge. As if that would matter. Whatever Potter wanted, Draco didn’t have it.

As the fire burned down, Draco considered returning to his room. His small room would be easier to heat. But the walls pressed in tight there, and he’d rather build the fire back up. He flicked his wand at the woodpile, sending another log to settle on the grate. The flames were at last shedding real warmth when Potter came in with a worn quilt and a book.

“Oh,” he said when he saw Draco. “I didn’t think anyone would be here.” He stood awkwardly, clutching his quilt as though he might turn and run.

“I can go.”

“No.” Potter frowned around at the room. “No it’s fine. I’ll just…” He sat in the armchair next to the sofa and arranged his quilt around himself. “My room felt kind of… small.”

Draco wished for once his mouth and brain would be of one accord. But no, he had to say, “A lot on your mind?” 

Potter hummed in agreement. He opened his book but only flipped aimlessly through it.

“Is it about your soulmate?” Draco couldn’t see the green of Potter’s eyes from here, but when he sketched this later, he'd make them blazing in the firelight anyway. “The others were talking about it while you were gone this afternoon.”

“Yeah. He never showed.” Potter lifted his hand to show his empty palm. “The words faded away, so I know he was there but…” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Fate is stupid and makes people do stupid things. No way I’m letting fate decide who I fall in love with.” 

“You’re sure it was a bloke?”

“Er… yeah… over the summer I…”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s not a secret or anything.” Potter tossed his book to the coffee table and tangled his hands in his quilt. “I think everyone was after comfort of some kind or other right after. Didn’t take long to figure out. But then marks started appearing on everyone and… Fucking soul marks. Just another reason to get laid anyway,” he said with a forced grin.

“Is that what you wanted? Sex?” This, at least, Draco understood. Sex as a tool, a weapon. A gift. Perhaps he’d been hasty to think he had nothing to offer.

Potter shrugged again, eyes on the fire. “I guess I wouldn’t turn it down.” His gaze flicked to Draco, scanning his body quickly before turning back to the fire. “Especially now that I’m officially unattached. What about you?”

Draco shrugged. “I already have a mark that supersedes all others.”

“Did your soulmate turn you down?”

“It was… complicated. Of course. And now it’s over.”

Potter accepted that without comment. Did he think Draco deserved to be alone? Or that he only had himself to blame? Whatever his thoughts, he kept them well hidden. Then Potter heaved a sigh and moved from the armchair to the sofa, sitting so close that Draco felt prompted to ask, “Can I share your quilt?”

Arranging it over them both, Potter said, “I stole it from the Burrow last time I was there. Ron pretends his mum gave it to me but… we both know that’s a lie. But where else am I supposed to get a handmade quilt?”

“You know they sell these in shops, right?”

“It’s not the same.”

Potter squirmed restlessly until he pressed so tightly to Draco, he was forced to put his arm around Potter’s shoulders. Nerves kept him tense, too tense for sharing a fucking quilt with Harry-fucking-Potter. They weren’t even friends, how did they start cuddling? 

The silence wrapped around them tighter than the quilt, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire. Potter glanced sideways at Draco and said, “You kiss boys?”

“On occasion.”

And just like that, he had a lapful of Harry Potter. As it turned out, there _was_ a scenario where Potter would welcome him with open arms, so long as he was depressed and lonely, and Draco was the only one around. Lovely. His tongue plunged into Draco’s mouth with a groan. Hands tugged lightly at his hair and then cupped his cheeks as the kiss gentled.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Potter panted against his mouth. 

Too much? How could it be too much? It was Harry Potter. Kissing him, touching him. Harry Potter could consume all of Draco and it wouldn’t be enough. Draco’s hands pushed Potter’s t-shirt up until he finally pulled back to whip it over his head.

“I’m so fucking cold.” His tongue licked a stripe up Draco’s neck and then he nipped at Draco’s ear. He sat up again to work open the buttons of Draco’s robe. “That shower, the quilt, the fire. None of it is working. You can heat me up, yeah?”

“Absolutely. Anything you want.” He deserved all Draco had and more after Draco left him stranded in the cold all day.

Potter’s fingers fumbled at that, but he managed to open the robe down to Draco’s thighs. He ran a hand over Draco’s pants, squeezing his cock through the fabric. “Touch me. Please.” He kissed Draco again, rolling his hips slowly, seductively.

Draco let himself go, shoving away his confusion and fear, and falling into the desire and heat swirling in him. If Harry Potter wanted to fuck around with him, nothing would stop him. He never even dared to dream it, and yet here was Harry Potter moaning with desire for Draco. Or at least for sex. Draco could provide sex. Without hesitation, he reached into Potter’s pyjamas to wrap his hand around the gloriously hard cock. 

“Yes, fuck,” Potter moaned as Draco set a fast pace. He returned the favour, working his hand over Draco at the same rate. He kissed Draco again, making adorable little huffing noises against his lips. 

“Merlin… you’re so… yes…” Draco was sinking too fast. It would all be over too soon, and then what? He shook it off, not wanting to think of Potter looking at him in regret. He gripped tighter, moving his hand more slowly to prolong the rush, and Potter followed suit.

“Please,” Potter whispered, resting his cheek against Draco’s. “Tell me you love me. Even though it’s a lie.”

A sharp stab of guilt hit like lightning and caused a torrent of words Draco couldn’t stop. “Yes, of course I do, everyone does. You’re Harry Potter, everyone loves you.” He felt the tense jerk of Potter’s body against him, but didn’t know what it meant. In his hand, Potter’s cock started to soften.

“No! Not -” Potter bounced lightly in Draco’s lap, taking his own cock in hand. “Not like that.” He sat back on Draco’s thighs and pumped furiously at himself. “Fuck,” he hissed. Both hands grasped Draco’s cheeks and pulled him in for a harsh, unforgiving kiss. 

Draco skimmed his hands up Potter’s back, lightly holding him while he attacked Draco’s mouth. The fear and confusion he’d buried came back, trying to drown out desire. He’d done something wrong, ruined this thing building between them. The kiss slowed as bit by bit, wall by wall, Potter pulled away from Draco.

Trying to catch his breath, Draco sat silently while Potter adjusted his pyjama bottoms and sat on the other end of the sofa with his knees pressed to his chest. “I’m sorry,” Potter whispered. His head dropped to his knees, cradled in his arms. Draco heard a small sniff. “I’m so sorry.” 

Draco burned with sour desire and shame as he fastened his robes. What did Potter have to be sorry for? Draco had ruined everything. Again. Not just their school years and the war. But the bridge, and tonight too. How could someone tainted as him belong with Harry Potter?

Gathering his quilt and t-shirt in his arms, Potter returned to his room without a backward glance.

\--------

The Great Hall seemed louder than usual the next morning. Draco could blame lack of sleep as the main cause, but surely Hermione Granger deserved some of the credit for shrilly yelling at Potter.

“I just want to see the memory, Harry! Maybe we can help you find him!”

“I don’t want to find him! All right? He had his chance. But if he couldn’t look past _Harry Potter_ to find Harry, then I don’t want him! So forget it, it’s over and done. I’m moving on.” He shot to his feet, grabbing his bag and hurrying towards the door.

But Granger wasn’t done with him. Despite the stares, she chased after Potter. “Harry, please. I know you’re upset -”

“‘Mione, please stop. I don’t want to talk about it anymore!” He shook off her hand and left the Great Hall. 

Weasley wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back to the small table of eighth years.

“Why can’t he just admit he’s lonely?” Draco heard just before he made his own quiet exit. Potter hadn’t gotten far, only halfway up the main staircase. Draco followed closely until Potter turned down the Transfiguration hall, then he hurried to catch Potter by the arm and pulled him into the nearest classroom.

“Hey!” he yelled in protest. “Malfoy? What do you want?” Potter flushed a deep red and wouldn’t meet his eye.

Draco trapped Potter against the wall and knocked their hips together. “You owe me,” Draco whispered as he dragged his lips along Potter’s jaw. He ran a hand over Potter’s groin, then yanked his robes open, relishing the sound of buttons scattering on the floor. He'd always wanted to do that.

Potter’s eyes widened as Draco fell to his knees and began working his jeans open. “What - why are you doing this?”

“Blue balls, fucking cocktease.” Potter’s cock was still soft enough that Draco could take nearly the entire thing, but not for long. Draco moaned as he felt Potter stiffen and lengthen with each long draw of his lips. He closed his eyes and lost himself to the rhythm of it. The scent of Potter, rich and heavy. His hand in Draco’s hair.

He should have done this last night, kept his mouth full and occupied instead of babbling nonsense like an idiot. If Potter wanted companionship and release, then Draco would provide it. And this time he would get it right, with no stupid words getting in the way.

The tension in Potter’s thighs built up under Draco’s fingertips, tiny tremors rippling as he got closer and closer to the edge. “Draco…” Potter sighed. Draco heard the thump as Potter’s head fell back against the wall. Soft moans became Draco’s name. And then with a sharp tug on Draco’s hair, Potter came in hot spurts. “Fuck, Draco… yes…” 

Draco swallowed it all, his own prick throbbing in his pants. Potter pulled him to his feet and kissed him, his tongue sweeping away the bitter remains of his release. “You owe me,” Draco whispered huskily as they both fumbled with the fastenings of his robe and trousers. And then Potter’s hand wrapped around him, tugging roughly. 

And it was everything Draco wanted. Until Potter slid down the wall, bracing himself against Draco’s thighs and took Draco’s cock into his mouth. No, _this_ was everything he wanted. This delicious, slick slide over a wicked tongue, with each tiny thrust of his hips punctuated by sweet moans from Potter. His orgasm washed through him like a tide, pouring out into Potter’s eager mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said as they righted their clothing. “About last night.” He summoned all his lost buttons and pocketed them to fix later.

Draco focused overly hard on his trousers. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. If anything, I should be sorry. I knew you were vulnerable and I didn’t - I should have been more careful.”

“I’m the one that started it. Hermione says… ” He looked over his shoulder at the door, as though afraid an indignant Hermione Granger might barge in. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I didn’t even want to go to that stupid bridge.” 

That had to be a fucking lie, because Draco arrived only an hour after receiving the mark and Potter had already been there waiting. Dressed to the nines, no less.

“I did,” Draco said, swallowing hard. “I wanted my soulmate more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But he… he wasn’t right for me and I knew it.”

“How did you know?” Potter asked. His earnest gaze tore at something fragile in Draco.

“The mark that supersedes all others.” He pulled the sleeve up on his school robe. Potter stared blankly at the faded pink outline of the Dark Mark, barely visible against pale skin. “Only two options. If he liked it, I didn’t want him and if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t want me. I knew which it was as soon as I saw him.”

“What if,” Potter asked, meeting his gaze steadily, “what if he didn’t care. What if he could look past it?”

Trust Potter to come up with a third option Draco hadn’t considered. But he knew the outcome there easily enough. 

Draco dropped his eyes. “Then he deserves better than me. Come find me when you want another go.”

He ran away before Potter could stop him.

\--------

He didn’t really imagine Potter would take him up on it. Although he could see Potter considering it throughout the day - the lingering looks at mealtime, the smile across the common room.

And then there was a knock on his door that night. A soft whisper of his name. Potter sliding between his sheets and pulling him close. There were breathy sighs and fierce kisses. That exquisite heat like no other rushing up like flood. A thank you and a kiss goodnight. The flare of light from the hall as the door opened and closed.

And Draco was left sated and alone.

\--------

The next morning at breakfast, a hand darted out and grabbed Draco as he walked to the empty end of the table. “Sit with me,” Potter said.

Draco looked at a bewildered Granger and Weasley and shrugged. He sat next to Potter, returning his smile. Potter passed the plate of bacon. “The bacon is excellent today.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, plucking off three pieces. He poured himself a glass of apple juice.

“Since when are you two friends?” Weasley asked.

“Since we started sleeping together yesterday,” Potter replied without pause or shame.

Weasley choked on his eggs, his eyes bulging comically. Granger thumped him on the back and stared, horrified, at Potter.

“Here, drink this,” Draco said, offering him the glass of juice.

Weasley absently accepted the glass, still coughing and red-faced. “Harry?” he rasped.

“Yeah it’s new but whatever. He’s joining us for breakfast.” Potter stared at Weasley for three seconds, then resumed eating as though it were any other morning.

Granger frowned at them. “Is this because of your soulmate issue?”

“Hermione,” Potter said in clipped tones, “I told you that if you mentioned my soulmate to me one more time, I wasn’t going to speak to you for the whole day. I hope you’re happy - we’re done talking until tomorrow’s breakfast.” He stood and dumped four pieces of buttered toast into a napkin. “Coming, Malfoy?”

Draco drank the last of Potter’s tea and picked up his bacon and two pieces of toast. “After you.”

As soon as they were clear of the Great Hall, Draco laughed, “Oh Merlin, the look on her face! That was my best breakfast since I woke up free of - you know - the day after the end.”

“Weren’t you in prison then?”

“Yeah… good times…” Draco shrugged, not really wanting to describe how relieved he felt to be in a Ministry prison instead of under the thumb of a maniacal Dark Lord.

Harry nodded, and thankfully let the subject drop. “I’ve got Defence first. What about you?”

“Herbology, greenhouse two.”

“Nice, let’s head there to finish breakfast.”

Happy to find the greenhouse empty, they sat on two of the stools and munched their toast. Harry conjured them two glasses of water and Draco shared his bacon.

Draco brushed off the last of the toast crumbs. “So we’re friends now?”

“Of a sort, I suppose. I can’t forget you smashed my face, but then I nearly bled you dry so I guess we can call it even.”

“I doubt we can ever be even.”

“We were shit to each other as kids. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

Draco felt that sentiment to his very core. “Me either.”

“So here we are. Striving to be different.” Potter hopped off his stool and stood between Draco’s legs. “Trying to rise up from the ashes.” He rested his hands on Draco’s thighs and grinned. “Fooling around while we learn to be better people.” He brushed his lips along Draco’s.

“You are a better person. What exactly are you trying to improve?”

Potter pulled away with a frown. “I’m just a person. I made mistakes, made stupid decisions that got people injured and killed. Even used some dangerous spells that are illegal or should be. Just because I beat the bad guy in the end doesn’t mean I did everything right and good.”

“No, I know. You’re still kind of a git.” Draco’s insides squirmed with nerves and desire as the pieces fell into place. What had Potter become in the months since the final battle? Maybe the old Potter died along with the Dark Lord, and what remained was something new. _Trying to rise up from the ashes_. If Potter could be different, so could Draco. “But a sexy one, so I guess I’ll let you kiss me some more.”

Potter’s laugh soothed the tension in Draco. He kissed him one last time before heading for the door. “I’ve got Defence, then Charms. See you for lunch?”

“I’ll save you a seat.”

\--------

Draco was thankful for the mindless greenhouse work that let him ponder the strange events of the last days. He’d been hasty, he recognised now, to leave Potter waiting on the bridge. He’d only seen the shining hero _Harry Potter_, and figured it would be nothing but heartache for him there.

What would have happened if he’d arrived as himself? Would Potter have been happy? Confused? All Draco could imagine, before, was anger. Harry Potter didn’t deserve a Death Eater soulmate.

Draco hadn’t considered the possibility that someone could look past his Dark Mark to the person underneath. Maybe because the person underneath wasn’t spectacular either. He’d made stupid mistakes too, dangerous ones that had gotten people injured or killed. He’d used spells that were illegal or should be.

The difference was that he hadn’t beaten the bad guy in the end.

And now he pondered that sometimes Harry Potter was just Harry. He also needed someone to look past the outer shell to what lay underneath. He wanted to be paired off, like the rest of their age mates. He wanted someone to love him, just him, not his name and deeds. He didn’t want to be the hero any more than Draco wanted to be the villain.

Could Draco manage that? Could he look past the hero to the scared, lonely boy underneath?

The Fates had already answered that with a resounding yes.

\--------

“How was class?” Harry asked as he sat next to Draco in the Great Hall.

“Mindless. You?”

“I probably should pay more attention, but it’s unlikely anyone’s scoring Harry Potter’s NEWTs as anything less than ‘Outstanding’ so I find I don’t care.” He threw this comment out like it meant nothing, but Draco could see the hurt underneath.

“We should partner up then, because I’m certain I’ll only get ‘Trolls’ even when I do everything better than you.”

Harry grinned and playfully elbowed him. Draco inwardly heaved a sigh of relief, knowing he’d finally said the right thing.

“Erm, H-h-harry Potter…”

They both turned to see a sandy-haired boy, a Ravenclaw, nervously twisting his hands in his scarf. A sixth year? Perhaps a seventh year?

“Yes,” Harry said after a lengthy pause. He pulled his muggle pen from his pocket. “Did you want an autograph?”

“Oh, no,” the boy giggled. “I’m Kevin. Kevin Baker. And I - I -”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, it’s just… you’re Harry Potter.”

“I know.”

“And I wanted to tell you… that I’m - erm…”

“Yeah, you’re kind of interrupting a lunch date so if you maybe want to think on it a bit. Come back when you’re ready.” Harry turned back to his plate. “Maybe write it down, send me an owl.”

“I wanted to apologise. For not meeting you on the bridge.”

Both Draco and Harry froze in their seats. Harry turned around and said icily, “What did you say?”

The boy paled, then straightened his back. “I said I’m sorry for not meeting you on the bridge. Merivale Bridge. Day before yesterday.”

“Fuck off,” Draco scoffed. “We all know you weren’t the one.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to his lunch.

Whatever nerves Kevin had for speaking to Harry didn’t extend to Draco. “_You_ fuck off, Death Eater. How are you even allowed to sit at the same table as Harry Potter?”

“Because I wanted him to, obviously,” Harry said with a glare. Draco licked his lips seductively and winked, softening the glare into a grin. “And he’s right, you weren’t the one.”

“How do you know?” Kevin persisted. “I - I’ll admit I was nervous so I - I disguised myself… I was there but you didn’t know it was me.”

“Mm,” Harry nodded. “What were you wearing?”

“Just some plain black robes.”

“Right, sure. And me? What was I wearing?”

Kevin stuttered briefly and said, “Jeans and - and your heavy cloak.”

“Good guess, but no.” He smiled curtly and turned back to his lunch. “Yeah, so you can fuck off now. And I’ll be sure to let Professor Flitwick know all about it.”

Draco cheerily waved good-bye to the departing boy and nudged Harry’s leg with his own. “What are you going to do when someone guesses right at what you were wearing? Plenty of people saw you that day.”

Harry frowned at his sandwich. “Even if he’d guessed right, I’d have sent him away… I have to believe the Fates wouldn’t choose a simpering half-wit fan for me.” He nudged back at Draco’s leg. “Besides, now I have you.”

\--------

During their free period that afternoon, Harry invited Draco to his room for _homework_. As it turned out, Draco had implied the emphasis on his own and homework was indeed homework and not a euphemism for sex.

Good thing he’d brought his backpack along for cover.

But two randy eighteen-year-olds could only handle so much revising while enclosed in a private room together. Draco didn’t regret for an instant the damage to his books as he shoved them to the floor and spelled Harry’s robes open, revealing his completely naked body.

“Were you naked under there this whole time?!”

“Did you see me get undressed while you were here?”

“What the fuck were we working on essays for?” Draco unbuttoned a few of his robe buttons and pulled them over his head.

“I don’t know. It got me hard - the anticipation.” Harry ran a hand down Draco’s chest. “Besides you’ve just got your pants on underneath there. Hardly fully dressed yourself.”

“I know. I thought we were going to fool around as soon as I arrived.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “We have homework!” He straddled Draco’s lap and drew him in for a kiss.

“Fuck homework, with your perfect ‘O’s’ on your NEWTs!”

Harry’s laugh brought a wider smile to Draco’s face. A smile he kept in place with clever fingers and a wicked tongue. He reveled in the soft sighs from Harry’s lips, and the way their bodies intertwined. He wanted to hold tight to the memory of Harry’s face and the breathless moan of Draco’s name when he came, but the feelings, the moments were hot and fast. There and gone before he could store it away. But the next time, he promised himself, the _next_ time he would remember. Always the next time.

Wrapped in Harry’s arms, he sighed in contentment. Contentment he might not deserve but had been gifted anyway. Perhaps the universe felt he’d paid his dues, that he’d recognised his mistakes, and was now on a better path. With Harry. Well nearly with Harry. There remained one truth hidden between them, he thought as he idly stroked up and down Harry’s back. 

“Mm,” Harry said, “scratch where your hand is. Higher… left… no my left… down… down… that’s good.” He snuggled closer across Draco. “Remember three days ago when I had to use my wand like a lonely sap?”

“Please tell me you mean a spell and not scrubbing about with your wand.”

Harry laughed and kissed below Draco’s ear. “I fucking love naked cuddling,” he whispered.

“Mm, yes, until we’re half asleep and roll apart and our damp, sticky skin painfully peels apart.”

“You’re a killjoy.”

Draco rolled so he faced Harry and kissed him softly. Harry smiled and ran a hand through Draco’s hair, down his face, and rested on his hip. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes and no,” Draco replied. “I’m happy. Here. With you. But it’s tainted because… I made a mistake with my soulmate.”

Harry’s face blanked completely and he pulled away. Draco grabbed him by the arm before he could get out of bed. “No, don’t leave.”

“But you said -”

“I’m not done talking. I made a mistake because I saw him, and I couldn’t look past what I _thought_ he was to what he _actually_ is.”

Harry didn’t relax, but he stopped looking like he might run. Pursing his lips he said, “All right.”

“Because I never imagined someone could do the same for me.” Draco scooted closer to Harry and cupped his cheek. “Harry, if I’d approached him that day… I think I never would have known. I assumed he would reject me outright. Or if he didn’t, surely he kept me out of pity or some misplaced sense of honour or - or just because the Fates demanded it. So I ran. And now, in a strange twist, I find myself… I find myself with him anyway.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his chest heaved erratically as he launched off the bed. “You - no, you can’t mean… You...” He held his hand out and his robe slammed into it. “I need clothes. _Fuck_.” His fingers fumbled with the buttons so he just held the robe closed over his chest. “It was you? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just told you. I was afraid the great Harry Potter would soundly reject a Death Eater soulmate. And I couldn’t handle that. I didn’t know I could be just-Draco and you could be just-Harry and we could… we could let the past go so easily.”

Harry perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know what to think. Or if I even believe you.”

“I have proof.” Draco pulled his sketchbook from his backpack. Sitting next to Harry, he opened it to a bookmarked page. A drawing of Harry, leaning on Merivale Bridge in his peacoat and shiny boots, looking off towards town. Waiting. He handed the bookmark to Harry. “You gave me your autograph.”

“You were the old man? With the sketchbook?”

Draco nodded.

“I just don’t understand. How you could leave me?"

“Because I was scared. I know you were too. But these past few days… I think at first you were lonely and I was available. But we - we’ve connected some, haven’t we? Enough to make a fresh start, together?”

“Yes,” Harry said hoarsely. “I mean, maybe not right this minute. I need to think.” He barked a harsh laugh. “I’m so confused and I don’t know what to think and I don’t want to tell Hermione.”

Draco smiled and took Harry’s hand. “We don’t have to, you know. We can just go on as we were. It can be our secret. Or at least until we’re ready to share.”

“Okay, right. Yeah, I think I want that. While I get used to the idea.” He bit his lip and searched Draco’s face. “If you _had_ talked to me that day… I was so desperate. For anyone at all. And scared. There’s no telling what I would have done, I guess. But this way… I’m glad I got to choose you for myself.”

“Me too.”

“I’m more scared now than I was before.”

“Me too.”

“Good. Or, I mean… not that you’re scared, just...”

Draco laughed and kissed him lightly. “We’ll go on together?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. “Together.”


End file.
